La noche previa fue un grito de lanzas y gemidos de flechas que enmudecían a los seguidores del primogénito, y la tierra bebía el lamento rojizo de los guerreros que caían heridos, mutilados o moribundos", cita del cuento breve "Poste verdoso".

All in the game yo, All in the game

ქვეყნად რაიმე, ქარის გარდა, არ არსებულა,
რადგან ყოველი დაქცეულა, არ არსებულა,
არ არსებული არსებულად ჩათვალე, ძმაო
არსებული კი მიიჩნიე არარსებულად

The moving finger writes, and having writ moves on.

Of all my seeking this is all my gain:
No agony of any mortal brain
Shall wrest the secret of the life of man;
The Search has taught me that the Search is vain.

We are not ‘censored’ in the traditional way in the United States: writers are not beaten or killed because of their words, and no Ministry of Truth enforces an official version of what can be printed and thought. But in this culture of images, we are censoring ourselves. That may be more insidious and long-lasting. What I mean is that we disparage long-term complexity, and extol superficiality. We ignore reading, and lavish time on images. To read, in my mind, is to consider and to think. To see an image is to react. What happens when we start believing the world and what is important in it are only these reactions and prejudices? What have you become when the most expected of you is simply to press a ‘Like’ button? What kind of gulag is it when its inhabitants are too stupid to understand they are its prisoners?